


ice storm

by Waywarder



Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [16]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Slow Dancing, winter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waywarder/pseuds/Waywarder
Summary: In which Crowley gets caught in the rain, and Aziraphale is there to help.Part of Drawlight's 31 Days of Ineffables collection!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Simply Having an Ineffable Christmastime [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558789
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	ice storm

Crowley had been out for a very nice walk when the rain started to fall. He had been windowshopping for Aziraphale, if you must know, and his thick, lovelorn heart had completely lost track of both time and distance. The rain grew colder and colder still, soaking through the absolutely-not-enough layers of Crowley’s clothing. (He would always choose style over practicality.) 

When he finally reaches the shop again, Crowley is fucking freezing. 

He busts through the doors of the bookshop, cursing the elements as he goes. 

“It’s brutal out there, angel,” he gasps out, folding his arms against his chest, anything to get warmer. Aziraphale sets down his book, and crosses to Crowley. 

Crowley jerks his hand upwards, moving to magic himself nice and warm and dry again, but Aziraphale catches him first, stopping his hand. Crowley groans.

“Aziraphale, you’re perfect, and I love you,” Because this, of course, is true. “But I am just about frozen here, and--”

“Let me?” Aziraphale offers, softly.

And Crowley blushes a little as he realizes what Aziraphale is offering. It is still such an alien, frightening thing to Crowley, to be taken care of. Doing the caretaking? Perfect. Marvelous. Spot on. Being the one lavished with attention and care? His cold muscles tense.

_But we’re partners,_ Crowley reminds himself. _We’re family. This is what we do. This is good._

Crowley nods to Aziraphale. The angel smiles, gratefully, and takes Crowley’s chilled fingers in his own, and leads him upstairs. Aziraphale squeezes Crowley’s hand as he opens the bathroom door, and ushers the demon inside. 

There is a hot bath drawn. The air smells of pine and thyme. (Probably a miracle, as they don’t fuck with candles at the moment.) There is music playing, something smoky and lovely and piano-heavy. 

“When did you have time to…” Crowley trails off.

“I do pay attention to weather reports, my dear,” Aziraphale kisses the back of Crowley’s neck, sending an altogether different sort of shiver coursing through the demon’s body. 

Aziraphale gently turns Crowley to face him. The angel places his hands on the lapels of Crowley’s jacket.

“May I, darling?”

Crowley nods.

Aziraphale undresses Crowley slowly, pausing along the way to kiss and caress and stroke various bits of cold, soaked skin. Crowley trembles a little as he stands there, cold and peeled open. 

“Do get in, dear,” Aziraphale instructs when he is finally finished. 

So, Crowley sinks into the water, and oh, that’s so much better. Warmth floods his cold body, and it is such a relief, and maybe, he thinks, this sharp, angular, finely-wired body of his is actually worthy of relief. And then Aziraphale sits beside the tub, and begins to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair, and oh, that’s even better still. And they sit like that for a while, quietly. They are learning how to be quiet together. How to simply exist together. 

It is Aziraphale who breaks the silence.

“I love you, you know.”

Crowley turns his head over his shoulder, and gazes up at Aziraphale. He lifts a hand out of the water and runs his wet fingers over Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“I do know. But you should still say it as often as you like.”

“You know, I think I shall.”

Silence settles back over them. Crowley lets his eyes close, working to commit every facet of this moment deep into his memory. The water, the scent in the air, the gentleness and romance of all of it, the angel he loves stroking his hair, the music…

The current song ends. And then: 

_“You must remember this…”_

Crowley nearly launches himself out of the bath at the first note, sloshing water as he goes. Aziraphale, getting thoroughly splashed in the process, yells in surprise, “Crowley! Really, my dear!” But Crowley cannot possibly be held at fault here, as you well know. 

See, when Dooley Wilson starts singing, and the love of your life is nearby, you get up and you dance.

Still naked and now dripping wet, Crowley extends a hand to Aziraphale. The angel sighs, properly smitten after all, and takes the hand. Crowley pulls Aziraphale against him, and, if the angel is bothered by having his clothes completely soaked through with warm bathwater, he doesn’t have it in his heart to protest. Aziraphale wraps his free arm around Crowley’s neck, and presses his face to Crowley’s. 

They are getting better at this dancing thing. 

_It's still the same old story  
A fight for love and glory  
A case of do or die  
The world will always welcome lovers  
As time goes by_

Later on, the rain will keep falling, glazing the city in ice as it goes, and inside the bookshop there will be soft, fluffy towels, there will be sweaters and thick socks, there will be mugs of cocoa garnished with tiny candy canes (Aziraphale cannot help himself), there will be bodies pressed against one another under layers and layers of blankets.

But, for now, as the freezing rain falls outside, there is an angel and a demon, slow dancing in a bathroom. 

It is an old story, but it is the best one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All I want is for them to hold hands and slow dance all the time.


End file.
